


The Calm Before

by diaphanous87



Series: The Archer [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Archery, Before Shit Hits the Fan, Gen, MGiT, Modern Girl in Thedas, Non-Inquisitor OC, Original Character - Freeform, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 12:07:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11463270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diaphanous87/pseuds/diaphanous87
Summary: In which Brighid has to remind people that she didn't sign-up to be a mindless soldier and damnation is the Western Approach hot.





	The Calm Before

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Dragon Age.

** The Calm Before **

\---

**Not a Soldier**

_“Nothing clears a troubled mind better than shooting a bow.” -Fred Bear_

_Date: 9:41 Dragon_  
Location: Village of Haven  
Time: Late afternoon

\---

The scent of lemon clung to Brighid’s fingers. Her bow gleamed from its recent oiling and she wiped away the excess oil with a second rag. She then wiped her fingers to get off the remnants of oil still clinging to her. Brighid decided she would wax her bowstring next, screwing the lemon oil’s jar shut. She was sitting on a barrel at the meagre archery range which was around the bend past Harritt’s forges. Sera was with her, doing a bit of practice. It was the most serious expression Brighid had ever seen on the other girl’s face. Some of the other archers of the Inquisition were watching Sera’s perfect aim with awe.

“Eat it! Ate it!” Sera crowed, finishing with a flourish. She unstrung her bow with efficient ease. “Oi, Grumbly, how’s the oiling? Hehe, oil you right up.” The blonde wound the bowstring up, shoving the neat little ball into a pocket in her breeches.

“You should wax that,” Brighid said as she finished with her own bowstring. “Won’t last long otherwise.” She smiled when Sera stuck out her tongue at her.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do it later. Oi! Any you sad sacks gonna practice some more?” Sera whirled around to address their fellow archers. She received negative responses and they ran away from the range. “Tsk, right then. Whatever. Gonna get my arrows. What do you think is for supper tonight, Grumbly?”

“Same old sad gray stew, I suspect.”

“Ugh.”

\---

Snow drifted down in small flakes, tinted green thanks to the light from the Breach in the morning sky. It was easy enough to ignore. Brighid practically danced up the steps that led to the cluster of three cabins that housed Adan, Solas, and a small group of mages. At her hip, she braced a basket filled with elfroot. She offered to get the plants for Adan so he didn’t have to pay Seggrit his ridiculous prices. It was easy and familliar work, almost comforting in its routine. The archer waved hello to Solas who nodded at her from where he was leaning against the little wall by his cabin. Then he straightened up.

“Da’len,” Solas called before she could get further. “A moment of your time.”

“That was definitely not a question,” Brighid quipped, raising her eyebrows in reprimand. She wasn’t swayed by the mage’s sheepish expression.

“Please?”

The shorter elf sighed and clicked her tongue. “Very well.” She swung her body around and approached him. “How can I help you?”

“It is more along the line of how I may help you.” Solas cocked his head at her. “How fares your ribs?” He was referring of course to the injury she had suffered when some merc asshole had tossed her ass over tea kettle against a wall at the Grand Forest Villa. It had hurt to breathe but she had gotten back up swinging as it were, shooting a quick arrow into his trachea. He had died gagging. She had walked away with four cracked ribs. Thankfully the Herald claimed the villa from the mercenaries by wiping them all out. She had to sit out from taking down the Carta holed up at Valammar.

“Your healing is holding up fine,” Brighid replied, “which I am thankful for, Mage Solas. Do you need any elfroot for your stores?” She offered up her full basket. She wanted to be done with this conversation. He made her nervous for some reason. Mild and courteous he may be, but there was something dangerous about Solas. Predatory. The same sense that screamed about the Hinterland bears rang alarms in her head every time she was alone with him.

“My stores are well stocked. Ma serannas, da’len. Tell me if your ribs bother you.” Solas turned away, dismissing her.

Brighid sighed through her nose. “Right, bye,” she muttered. She hurried away. “I hate when he says shit in elvhen to me. How am I supposed to know what he’s saying? And he keeps calling me that and I don’t think I like it.” She burst into Adan’s cabin/alchemy lab. “Adan!”

“Maker have mercy!” The crotchety alchemist whirled around, an angry expression creasing his craggy bearded face. “Girl! Why do you insist on scaring the shit out of me? I could have blown us all up!”

“Whaaaat? You wouldn’t blow us up! Besides, you’re making healing salves, not explosives.” The ‘duh’ was obvious in her voice.

“I could have been…” He glared at her. Then he saw her full basket. “I suppose I can forgive you,” Adan said, holding out his hands for the elfroot.

Brighid laughed and handed over the basket of herbs. “How generous of you,” she teased. “Anyway, let me know if you need more.”

“Tsk. I have more helpers than you, girl. Go find a proper job around here. Surely the Herald can find something for you to do other than loitering around here, plucking plants for me.”

“Ugh, he always drags me somewhere icky for archer support. He needs to take Sera with him more. Anyway, I like picking herbs for your cranky ass. At least you appreciate it. Let me do what I like when I’m here in Haven.”

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Adan called out for the visitor to come in. A scout, Jim was his name if Brighid recalled correctly, peered in nervously. “Hunter McCullough, the Commander wishes to speak with you.” He ran off when she acknowledged his message with a nod.

“Welp, I’m off then! Don’t blow us up, Adan!” Brighid laughed at the rude gesture he aimed at her before shooing her out of his space.

\---

“You want me to what?” Brighid crossed her arms and shook her head.

Commander Rutherford frowned harder. “You’re one of our best archers,” he ground out. “And the last time Sera tried, it did not go well.”

“That’s because Sera is shit at explaining things in a logical manner,” she said drily. “She might as well been born with bow in hand. She barely needs to practice herself. Genius like that does not always translate well into teaching.”

“And are you like that?”

“Shit, no. Dad had me practice until my fingers bled, until I was perfect.” Until the math in her head matched her shooting, with painful consequences for failure. Brighid looked a bit sick at the thought. “There was corporal punishment involved as well.” Rutherford made a horrified noise. She shrugged and stared him straight in the eye which seemed to make him nervous. “I assure you, even if I agreed to teach some of your soldiers to wield a bow, I wouldn’t hit them. Surely one of Sister Leliana’s people could help with this? Lots of archers among the scouts and rogues at her disposal.”

“Unfortunately none can be spared. I don’t want perfect either, just some ability to aim and shoot without killing themselves. Or their comrades.” The commander rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing.

“So for just in case? Not because they want to become archers?”

“Exactly.”

“No.”

Rutherford straightened up even more to loom over her, glaring now. “And if I make it an order?” He growled through scarred lips.

“I am not one of your soldiers, Commander,” Brighid said coolly. She was outwardly unfazed by the show of aggression though she subtly shifted her feet if she needed to run to Haven proper for Mother Giselle. Never let it be said that she was stupid but she would not be cowed either into compliance. Not ever again. “I will not blindly jump when told to jump nor will I heel for you like a mabari. I am here with the Inquisition upon Mother Giselle’s request. I can leave if I so wished. I am a volunteer for the Herald in whatever capacity he wishes within my purview. Archery takes time and dedication because any asshole who picks up a bow can shoot but shoot well? That is on them to practice until they can shoot well enough to be useful.”

“You..!”

“Will not bend on this,” she finished. “Come find me again if one of yours actually wants to be a full-time archer.” Brighid stalked away, ignoring Rutherford’s angry calls to come back right now.

\---

Nock the arrow and set.

Quickly lift and draw to the cheek to anchor said arrow.

Aim, release, follow-through.

Bullseye.

Brighid repeated the smooth, practiced motions. Sweat beaded on her forehead. A second arrow flew, silent as a grave. A thump sounded as she hit her mark. Again, she grabbed a third arrow from her quiver across her back, following along the proper process of shooting her bow. With each shot, she calmed down. By the eighth arrow, Brighid was pleasantly tired. She stopped, breathing deeply.

“Feel better, Grumbles?” Varric called from beyond the fence ringing the small range.

“Hullo, Varric,” Brighid replied. She watched as the dwarf perched himself on the barrel she had once sat on yesterday as she oiled her bow. “I got into a bit of an argument.” She didn’t offer anything more beyond that.

“A bit of an argument, she says. Funny, from what I heard, you stood toe to toe with Curly and told him to fuck off.”

“Those were not my words,” she demurred though pleased with his phrasing. “I am not his to command, fancy title or not.”

“Pfft, you got it. Curly and Shiny got into a shouting match about it even.”

“Shiny?”

“Our illustrious Herald of Andraste, of course!”

“I don’t know, Varric. Your newest nickname for the Lord Herald seems a bit lackluster.” Brighid smiled slightly.

“Everyone’s a critic.” Varric rubbed his stubbly chin, staring at her as she unstrung her bow. “You know, Grumbles, you got guts. Pretty admirable. Lots of the elf servants are looking at you like you’re the best thing they’ve ever witnessed. They’ve probably never seen an elf just stand up to a human like you did.”

“What, like equals?” Brighid blinked in surprise. “Surely there are others who have done the same thing.”

“Usually those others get cut down quick as you like.”

“Then I’m lucky Rutherford didn’t draw his sword on me.”

“Who, Curly? He’s a bit of an asshole but he wouldn’t kill a tiny unarmed elf.”

“I had a dagger,” she grumbled.

“Not the point.”

“Then what is the point of this whole conversation?”

Varric winced. “Ouch, Grumbles. Cut a dwarf some slack. Anyway, Shiny has quite the storm cloud over his head. He’s looking for you. Thought I ought to warn you in case things get dicey.” He gave her a cheeky salute and left. His voice echoed out, obviously greeting Trevelyan before completely disappearing from earshot.

“Brighid!” Trevelyan stormed over, green eyes narrowed and his handsome face twisted in a frown. He skidded to a halt and glared down at her. But his grip on her shoulders were surprisingly gently.

“What?” Brighid snarled back, once again itchy and irritable.

The taller of the two seemed to melt, the anger disappearing. “Maker’s mercy, you are the gutsiest little bit I have ever met. Are you alright? Did Cullen hurt you? Your ribs?” He was absentmindedly patting her muscled but narrow shoulders.

“I’m fine.” The fight drained out of her at the sight of his genuine distress. “I’m fine, Trevelyan. Stop patting me like I’m an upset horse. And my ribs are alright. Solas did an amazing job and they’re all healed.”

The Herald snatched back his hands, a blush spreading across his sun-darkened cheeks. “My apologies, I should not have put my hands on you,” he stammered. His tanned hands scrubbed over his face. “And Cullen did not have permission to order you teach recruits, I assure you.”

“Perhaps he thought I would jump at the chance,” Brighid said. “Which is ridiculous. Why would I want to do that?”

“Why, indeed.” Trevelyan peered down at her, bending a little. “Brighid, I just simply ask that there are no more fights. I made myself very clear with Cullen before I found you here. I may understand that he wants our best to teach but I told him the teachers had to be willing. I told him. Andraste grant me patience. He is not to issue orders to you, only to ask for a favor and only if I okay them beforehand and you graciously agree to help. You’re here to help upon Giselle’s request only.”

“Mother Giselle,” she corrected.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mother Giselle.” He sighed. “And let me know if you wish to leave us to go back to the Hinterlands. I would be very understanding of that as well. You’ve done much to help but I cannot ask for more than what you are willing to give.”

“Lucky you, I’m so nice,” Brighid replied to the offer. “I will stay until the Breach is closed at least. Maybe I’ll leave after that. But continue to remember, I am not a soldier and will never be one. I owed a debt to Mother Giselle which is the only reason why I volunteered for the Inquisition at all as a hunter, tracker, and as someone who watches your back on occasion.”

“Which I am grateful for, thank you.” Trevelyan smiled. “Come to me if you need anything, okay?”

“Sure.” How surreal…

\---

“Hunter McCullough…” Rutherford approached her with shuffling feet near the tavern. Both ignored the various people staring at them.

“Commander,” Brighid acknowledged in a flat tone. She was unsure of his reason for coming to her.

“I’ve come to apologize,” the blond man rushed out, a blush spreading across his chiseled cheeks. “I was… aggressive when I had no right to be. And you are certainly not under my command. I am sorry.”

The elf blinked, her stoic facade fading. His apology was genuine. “I forgive you,” she said slowly. “Perhaps I let my temper get the better of me as well. Sorry.”

“O...of course, Hunter. These are… troubling times and... Maker’s breath, I’m bad at this!” Rutherford bursted out from behind his scarred lips, weaving his fingers through his coiffed hair. His smile was sheepish when she starting laughing. “Please, mercy, Hunter McCullough.”

“Right, sorry,” Brighid waved a hand at him as she got her giggles under control. “Right, so forgiveness for everybody, deal?” She held out her hand to shake and smiled when he completed the gesture.

“Deal.”

\---

“See, too nice.”

“Shut up Varric.”

\---

**Desert Thorn**

_Date: 9:41 Dragon_  
Location: Forbidden Oasis, Western Approach  
Time: High Noon

_“In the case of archery, the hitter and the hit are no longer two opposing objects, but are one reality.” -Eugen Herrigel_

\---

What an awful place. It was hot and full of hyenas and spiders and sand. There was no relief even down in the water of the oasis. Just smelly tuskets, which were definitely uglier than hippos and tasted like overgrown nug. And the actual nugs running around could not be forgotten either.

“Da’len, are you well?” Solas crouched down before Brighid in the shade she had claimed for herself at the edge of the water. He frowned at the sight of her overly flushed cheeks. “I suspect you are not,” he concluded when she didn’t answer. Only her labored breathing filled his ears. “You are used to cooler climes, the Herald should not have had you stay here with us instead of going to Redcliffe.” Us was himself, her, Iron Bull, and Blackwall. They were part of the investigative team that was looking into the random shards that went with the temple in the middle of the oasis. Trevelyan had only been there long enough to close all of the rifts before heading back to Ferelden.

“S’hot,” Brighid slurred, eyelids fluttering. She just felt so dried out. Like jerky left too long in the sun. Even her light cotton tunic and breeches were not cool enough. She wanted to be naked or gone from here.

“Hush, da’assan.” Solas summoned the bare minimum of ice to coat his palm and the undersides of his fingers. He cupped her forehead to cool her. He frowned more when she groaned in relief, leaning into his touch. Nevermind that normally she didn’t cozy up to anyone really. Sera usually was the only one to touch her so casually. “Fenedhis, you are overheating.” He leaned his staff against the rock behind her back. “Hold on.”

Brighid let out a squawk, finally reacting. She was being lifted up by the surprisingly strong, wiry arms of the elvhen apostate and pulled into his lap. Her thighs bracketed his hips. They were chest to chest. “Hey!” She croaked, flailing her arms.

“What’s going on?” Blackwall demanded, eyes wide. He had stripped himself of his heavy armor at the camp above the oasis.

The Iron Bull came up to the rest of the group, eyebrows furrowed deeply. “Heat sick, huh?” He asked. He began to pull a protesting Blackwall away.

“Yes. She needs to be cooled, quickly.” Solas hugged her close and summoned up more ice, exerting absolute control over his magic. He grit his teeth when she made a greedy, hungry sound. She finally wrapped herself around him, clinging. Her face was buried against his neck. “Easy, easy. I have you, da’len.” Long elegant fingers gripped her nape, cool and reassuring. He kept murmuring in elvhen against her temple. The cold was refreshing to him as well but Brighid needed it more.

Iron Bull came back with a water skin. “Poor little bas,” he murmured as he helped Solas get water down her throat. She made a noise of protest but swallowed. “Told the Boss not to leave her with us. Saw that she wasn’t liking the heat on the way here. I didn’t think she’d get this bad already though.” The Qunari shook his horned head. “I’ll send a raven ahead so Red knows we’re sending her back to Haven with the next rotation out.”

“An excellent idea,” Solas responded. “Ah, she is asleep.”

“She’s probably exhausted. Heat like this? It can mess you up. Want me to take her to a tent? Actually nevermind. She’ll end up cooking in it.”

“Agreed. I will stay with her here in the shade by the water.” Slowly, the elf lifted her and had her curl up on the sandy bank. Solas took out his handkerchief and iced it, draping the cold, wet cloth onto Brighid’s neck. “My thanks, the Iron Bull.”

“No prob, Solas. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for her.”

\---

Brighid woke slowly. Her mouth felt sandy and dry. She coughed, alerting the other person in the tent with her. “What?” She whispered.

“Brighid.” Solas brushed a magically cooled hand against her forehead. “The sun has set,” he murmured, “and supper has passed. Here, drink some water. Slowly.” The archer sipped from the water skin that he had guided to her mouth. “You will be riding in the wagon until the desert is far behind you.”

“What? Did I get recalled?” Brighid sat up fully.

“Da’len, you collapsed onto the bank by the oasis. Your health is in danger if you stay here. If I hadn’t cooled you so quickly, you would have gotten very sick.” The bald elf gently pushed on her shoulder to get her to lay down. “On the morrow, the next rotation out will be your ride out of the Western Approach.”

“I should be better than this,” she grumbled. “If my father had ever seen me so weak before he died…”

Solas slashed an impatient hand through the air. “There is no ‘should be better’ here,” he said, nose wrinkled in displeasure. “And if your father were here with that kind of thinking in regard to your collapse, I would be most upset as your primary healer.” He glared down at her with narrowed reflective eyes. “You need to rest.”

“What about the expedition?” Brighid huffed, puffing out her cheeks in frustration.

“It’ll be over soon enough. It appears we do not have enough shards to open the door to the Temple and the wards surrounding the entrance makes it difficult to stay too close for the rest of the team. But there are other places to explore as well before we head out. But you must be away back to cooler areas.” He cocked his head to the side. “Please do not argue. It is only logical to remove yourself from an environment that is detrimental to your health.”

She copied Cassandra’s patented noise of disgust, turning her head away. “Damn you,” she said. “It’s not fair to use logic on me.”

“Considering you use the same against Sera, you have no room to complain.” Solas chuckled at her affronted expression. “Besides which, by the time you arrive at Haven, the Herald should be done meeting with Grand Enchanter Fiona in Redcliffe.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

The mage snorted. “Not a thing. Just merely an observation,” he said smoothly. He eyed her. “I am glad you are feeling better, da’assan. It would have grieved me to see you fall in such a manner.” He busied himself with his bedroll, ears perked high.

“You keep calling me something in elvhen but I have no idea what it means. That one is new though. Hey, are you listening?”

“Yes, I am listening.” He looked up. “For you to not even know a small bit of our language troubles me. I can teach you better than any Dalish if you so desire? They butcher it dreadfully but they are certainly more fluent than you at present.”

“Wow,” she deadpanned, “what a flattering offer, ser.”

“Ah. I meant no offense.” Solas laid on top of his bedroll, too hot to even attempt to get into it. “Da’len means little child with len meaning child…”

“What the shit?!” She was not a little kid!

“Da is a diminutive prefix also meaning small,” Solas continued without missing a beat. “Assan means arrow and as such da’assan means little arrow…” The miniature vocabulary lesson continued until Brighid drifted off to sleep to the dulcet tones of the mage’s baritone voice.

\---

** End of Part Two **


End file.
